After what seemed like an eternity, Hanne turned on her side in her bed to discover that the clock now read 03:39.. the last time she looked, ages ago, it had read 03:18. and the time before that, 03:03.

Smoke and ruin surrounded them, the crackling of burning timber and the occasional crash of collapsing stonework an appropriate backdrop to the desolation of his soul at that moment. He was tired of running, the day's efforts leaving him an exhausted mess that could barely take another stop forward let alone bring his rifle to bear against the hateful invaders of his homeland. Now, sitting amongst the rows of bottles and packaged food, he waited for his pursuer to find him.

TOLD U THISur voice impossible In The Wind/ She raised the knife and slit her throat. She woke and she saw the boy. The first one she killed. The boy took her by the hand and lead her to the dance floor where they danced for all eternity.

Sow a resurrection.. Is this is this regurgitation in this Deathlands?....imobile almost frozen/ awaken cosmic orgasm our deaths my sweetness SO CUM WITH u wilds every ever STEP every animal we U ever encountered....MMMMMMMMMMM Sow a. HELL sustain shes good oh f**k very TELEPATH?

https://my.mail.ru/bk/serben/video/701/3334.html u imag inemmm em ...machines...down below left on here ...2 too.long long ago HERE;+Crash so Glow they wont. Mostly She is the SaDest beautiful place .........Those that will be red Xed as they sleep willL be sliced they wont MOSTLYly recognisecum DEATH........... cum recogniseknocking/mocking dave knocking=nothere.knocking=nothereknocking. recogniseDEAthknocking=nothere. after cumms BEAST...... Imiss Not too alone...

On his chubby arm is a low-quality tattoo of a Virgin Mary holding a little baby mutant. As he walks into the bar the janitor looks up at him. Both of them are bald, and so is the barkeep, polishing the heavy glass beer mugs. The place suddenly feels like an annual Northfields failed hairdressers convention. There's nobody else in the bar, which doesn't come as a surprise since it's early morning and the Tap isn't even open yet.

((Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of cannibalism, Schizophrenia, and Corpse Mutillation. I tried to spare every gory detail leaving in only enough where a general picture could form in the mind of the reader, as I wanted this to be friendly to most audiences.))

It's been 2 months... I've ventured back and fourth out of the village in that fraction of time. But for the past month and a half I was out of the village. I went to visit other cities and outposts, there was one completely walled up by survivors. They had Enforcer tents, military issued equipment. None of them were military however.

Karl now well rested and with light beginning to appear over a nearby hill cascading down onto the small camp he currently resided, it wasn't much but it was a respite from the wasteland. The small camp consisted of a small fireplace flanked from all angles with varying sizes of rocks a simple creation and yet so esential to life. Just beyond the fireplace laid an unfurled bedroll tattered with a collection of belongings including a rifle, the ammo for said rifle, a few pictures facing down onto to the ground and finally a small bag that contained a couple of cans of food and some water.

Azazel stepped into Embry Crossroads wearing much gear after having spent much time meditating, and perfecting his fighting methodology whilst in the desert. He Slowly looked from left to right, wondering if this disappearance had ended his following. When a simple bum fell into him he knew the truth. It was at this moment he stated to himself "Pitiful peasants don't even remember one of their once rulers.

Countless restless nights draining the will to get out of bed just to avoid further stress of this strange thing that everyone refers to as everyday life.

Nightmares by night level the amount of trouble and misery seen by day. Many times before thought of just ending it all came to his mind. Thinking whats the point of counting sand grains in the desert when you can see desert storm approaching on the horizon.

The wind blew harsh outside the wasteland with the sand storm kicked up like shards of glass being rained down on this region of the Grand Canyon. A tall rider wrapped in a brown leather duster coat with chaps and what shoes he could find venturing out on the back of an old horse. A gift some allies gave him after his trials and tribulations at Facility 51. His emergence into this world called the Wasteland was not one simply of a destiny. It was literally thrusted upon him from the moment he stepped out of the Lifenet Pod.